


The Thing About Contrition

by Siobhan_Schuyler



Category: White Collar
Genre: M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Polyfidelity, Power Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-12
Updated: 2013-02-12
Packaged: 2017-11-29 00:31:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/680623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siobhan_Schuyler/pseuds/Siobhan_Schuyler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter is a little rough when he eases Neal's mouth down on it, and El's fingers curl a little too tightly in Neal's hair. But Neal doesn't complain, takes his penance gratefully.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Thing About Contrition

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the WhiteCollarLAS prompt "mistakes and forgiveness", which had to be kept under 900 words. Title yoinked from My Chemical Romance's "House of Wolves".

It's just past noon on Monday when Neal returns from the deli with lunch for the whole team. Peter watches as Neal goes around the bullpen handing each agent the sandwich they ordered before heading up the stairs to Peter's office with the last paper-wrapped bundle.

Neal beams at him when he hands it to Peter, who unwraps it hungrily and takes a large bite. A second later he's coughing and swallowing with a grimace.

"This is... spicy eggplant and dijon, or something. On whole wheat. I ordered egg salad on white."

Neal puts on a convincingly guilty look. "I'm so sorry, Peter. I must've misheard your order."

Neal doesn't mishear anything. He took everyone's order without writing any of them down, and Peter would wager his next paycheck that every sandwich out there is right. Except this one.

He's not sure what Neal's endgame is here, but he sets the sandwich down on his desk anyway. "It's all right. Honest mistake. Thanks for lunch, Neal."

That night at home, while El's busy uncorking the bottle of red Neal just brought over, Peter corners a smirking Neal by the stairs and crushes their mouths together. If he grips Neal's wrists a little rougher or bites Neal's lip a little harder than usual, Neal doesn't complain.

*

The team spends all day Wednesday in the conference room, focused on one complex mortgage fraud case. There's no time for a Starbucks run so Neal takes it upon himself to keep the kitchenette well stocked. Bored with research, he also keeps everyone's cup filled, periodically going around the room with the carafe, doling out refills like a diner waitress.

Peter lets him; he knows there are few things that drive Neal crazier than being stuck inside all day. Peter even lets Neal fix his coffee for him, since he can barely manage to lift his head out of the stack of files he's poring over long enough to do it himself.

His favorite mug slides across the table to him, full and steaming. Peter smiles and takes a sip – and almost spews it back out in surprise. "This has sugar. What's with you this week?"

Neal shrugs, the very picture of contrition. "I guess coffee orders just aren't my thing.”

Peter doesn't buy it for a second. He's pretty sure he has, in the past, stood in line at Starbucks and watched Neal commit to memory every single customer's order that preceded theirs.

"Sure,” Peter say dubiously. “Remake this, will you? Or sit down and help me go through these."

Neal takes the mug back wordlessly and high-tails it back to the kitchen.

Later, on the Burkes' couch, Neal is taking his time unbuttoning Peter's shirt, humming happily every time El's fingers run through his hair. As he uncovers inches of skin, El unbuckles Peter's belt and eases down the fly, takes Peter's cock out of his underwear for Neal.

Peter is a little rough when he eases Neal's mouth down on it, and El's fingers curl a little too tightly in Neal's hair. But Neal doesn't complain, takes his penance gratefully.

*

Friday nights, when there is no pressing case keeping Peter and Neal at the office, is take-out night at the Burkes’. Peter will grab a pizza on his way home, or Neal will make them order from his favorite Greek place, or El will walk to the great little shawarma restaurant down the block. Most of the time though, they just order in Chinese.

Peter pays the delivery guy and brings the fragrant paper bag back into the kitchen. El and Neal follow suite, lured by the smell and their growling stomachs.

El gets the plates, Neal gets the beers, and Peter starts unloading the cartons from the bag, prying open the lids. There's sesame chicken, El's favorite, and ginger beef, Neal's favorite, and moo shu pork and crab rangoon and egg foo yung and fried rice and--

"Neal," Peter gripes, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Where's my lo mein?"

"Is it not in there?" Neal lies beautifully, all false concern as he sidles over.

"Did you _order_ it?" Peter says testily.

"I could've sworn I did, seriously."

Peter turns to him, takes him the wide, earnest eyes.

"All right, that's it." He grabs the beers from Neal's hand and sets them loudly on the counter. "Follow me."

He storms upstairs, trusting Neal to follow him and knowing El will bring up the rear. Dinner can wait.

He undresses Neal, whose expression betrays nothing but a slight edge of anticipation. Peter stays clothed but removes his belt, instructs Neal to bend over the bed, hands on the mattress, feet in a relaxed stance. El sits cross-legged by his head.

“I’m sorry, Peter,” Neal repeats, either hoping for a reprieve or a harder punishment, it’s never clear with Neal.

“I know you are,” Peter says calmly, running his hand over Neal’s back. “I forgive you. You’re not getting this because you made mistakes; you’re getting it because you’ve been taunting me all week. If you want this you should just ask for it, Neal.”

There’s a moment of silence before Neal huffs out a soft, “Okay.”

Neal’s already hard, and El’s smiling, and Peter decides on fifteen lashes -- five for every offense. He ends up giving Neal a few extras at the end, just for being a good boy.

 


End file.
